Beautiful Death
by Honoria Glossop
Summary: Hermione's jealousy for Harry and Ginny leads to something drastic.
1. I Won't Stay Long

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Ron and Ginny Weasley, and Hermione Granger belong to J.K. Rowling and not me. I don't imply that they do, either. Author's Note: Wysteria is a vine-like plant that looks like grapes, but it grows flowers instead. Heliotrope means lavender. 

Beautiful Death 

She held up her wand and whispered the charm as quietly as her quavering breath could manage. _Flora fidelestra._ The Gryffindor girl's dormitory was totally silent in the pale moonlight reaching past the red velvet curtains at the farthest western window, calling her, reaching for her and her only, and Hermione could feel something in the air as she held her breath. Watching. 

Watching the red curtains surrounding her familiar bed, the one that had been her haven for the past 4 years. Soon, they began to twist and turn into demented shapes, coiling and reaching and twisting and spinning, until they were vines with thick, heavy heliotrope-coloured Wysteria, drooping like ladies' rip curls, heavily perfuming the room against the thick smoke billowing up from the fireplace in the common room. 

The bedspread had begun to change too, the white pillow she had rested her tired head upon for what seemed like an eternal life was blooming, blossoming. Peonies. She smiled softly, remembering her mother's garden, in all its summer splendor, heavy with life and aged with time, and she stood in awe to watch the transformation again. 

Poppies seemed to divulge themselves across the sheets, brightly colouring it into wild spectrums of purples, blues, reds, pinks and greens. Rose petals began to rain lightly down from the canopy like huge teardrops for the dead. Dead. Hermione shivered. 

Stepping over to Pavarti Pavil's full length mirror across the room, she gazed at herself in the reflecting silver. The white dress she had conjured appeared sublime, almost ghostly. It would be the last time she would look at herself, or anyone else for that matter, she thought ruefully. Then she remembered. 

_"Oh, Harry, you're so wonderful!" Ginny had cried as he put his arm around her and smiled into her eyes. Hermione had watched quietly, pretending not to see, pretending not to fall apart as they fed each other ice cream from silver spoons and the band on the radio had played a soft love song. For them. _

It was all too much, she had decided, searching through the library the next day. Jealousy had slowly eaten her dignity away until she couldn't sleep at night and couldn't breathe when she saw Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley smile at each other over dinner. It was selfish. Terribly selfish, and she felt a pang of guilt that was soon replaced by something else. Then she remembered something her father had told her once. Her fingers touched her chin thoughtfully, almost pensively. 

"There was once a famous actress who was failing, in her career and in her life. She was very beautiful, and wanted to be remembered for something more than just her wild place in society. 

"So one day she decided to take an overdose of sleeping pills. She dressed herself in a beautiful, beautiful white dress and covered her bed with the loveliest flowers she could find. 

"She laid down after finishing off the last pill and died. She died the most beautiful death anyone had ever seen, and that was what she was always remembered for. End life with style and gusto, Hermione. It may sound cruel, but we are all born to die." 

She had snuck to Snape's office and stolen all the ingredients for an eternal sleeping potion, the one dream she would never wake up from. She would die on a Wednesday, she had thought pensively. Hermione had always wondered what it would be like to die, but she had never thought of herself seriously as mortal. 

Then the questions began. Who would mourn her? Would Harry remember her? What would her future have been like? No, that was the wrong question. Harry was with Ginny and that was that. There was always Ron, good old Ron, a tiny voice inside her said, but the bigger voice replied that No, Harry belongs to Ginny and Ron doesn't care. The only way people will remember you with reverence is by beautiful death. 

She opened her eyes again, letting the tears stream down her face. Harry. She would miss him, but there was always that chance that she would become a ghost and forever haunt him, reminding him of his own mortality and what little time he had left in that world, what she would call it then, with his dear, stupid Ginny. Or that she would forever protect him against evil. 

Shaking her head, she studied herself in the white dress one last time, preserving the image of herself, that beautiful but forgotten girl with the thick brown hair and the only slightly oversized teeth, now pale and pallid and scared out of her wits. 

Then a thought came to her, and she smiled. 

"Considering what life is like now, maybe death isn't so bad after all." Her voice seemed out of place, almost shocking to the flora covered bed and all the silent furniture accompanying it in the room. She crept to the door and turned the lock with a single twist. Everyone was downstairs listening to Harry talk about the Quidditch match, no one would bother worrying about her until it was too late. 

She smiled again. It was exciting, thrilling, and she knew it was so wrong. But for some reason exhilaration had bubbled up inside of her as she thought of an all- school funeral. It was egocentrical, but she was only thinking of herself as she held up the small clear glass stolen from the Great Hall. 

It was an offense to steal dishware, but it wouldn't matter. Nothing mattered as long as she did this gracefully. The swirling cerulean blue water seemed to move of its own accord as she sat on the bed and swung her feet up. The last movement. 

She laid back and whispered a spell to make her hair seem to sparkle with the moonlight. Raising the glass to her lips awkwardly, she drank the entire contents of the pilchered glass. It was sweet like Marzipan, she thought calmly as she felt it penetrate her throat. 

Hermione closed her eyes. The moonlight seemed to fade from the room, and she could hear a distant rattling noise, like someone was trying to open a locked door. Had she locked the door? She couldn't remember. Suddenly she felt the slightest shaking, as though the bed were moving, was someone shaking her to wake her up? It was too late for that. 


	2. I Can't Catch You

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Ron and Ginny Weasley, and Hermione Granger belong to J.K. Rowling and not the lovely-er, lowly Honoria Glossop, whose name actually belongs to P.G. Wodehouse. :) Read Beautiful Death first, please.  


I Can't Catch You 

    Ron Weasley sat at the mahogany table that had been set against the far wall of the Gryffindor common room, twisting a lock of red hair between his fingers, playing Wizard's Chess against himself. The advantage of this was that he was sure to win, but the pieces that stood on the blue and white marble kept getting confused, they couldn't tell who belonged to what team. 

    "So I swooped up and jolted Malfoy from his broom-" Ron smiled to himself and took his own bishop. Harry was lounging on a red stuffed chair, sitting next to Ginny and surrounded by half the house, telling Quidditch stories. It was so warm there, so home-like, even though he wasn't home. 

    Ginny certainly seemed to think it was. She was leaning against Harry on the sofa, her eyes glistening with wide-eyed wonder as she seemed to thrive on his every word, Ron knew her admiration for his best friend was endless, and the two did seem very happy together. 

    Of course, for him it was awkward. Harry was his friend, and at first he had hated the idea of his best friend being so close to his sister, but eventually he got used to it and stopped whining about the two. 

    The story soon ended with everyone sitting around the Seeker of Gryffindor breathless. 

     "Tell us another," begged a first year who had listened with great interest. 

     "Yes, please? Please, Harry?" Little voices began to rise up in the air, like sleepy but determined children demanding just one more fairy tale from their father. 

     "C'mon, Harry, tell them another story, just one more!" Ron mimicked them in a falsetto, and Harry turned to give him a death stare and grinned. He obviously wanted to talk to Ginny, as he kept telling them all to go to bed. Unfortunately, Harry Potter was quite a push-over for an opportunity to tell victory stories, and almost gave in when finally Ron stood and shooed them away. 

     "The moon is full and the night is young. Off to bed, you droopy eyed children. Else I'll get Professor McGonagall up here." They all left, leaving just the 4th year girls in the room who were working on Potions homework and had no intention of even looking in another direction except for Snape's work. 

    Harry looked grateful to him, and Ginny gave him a funny look. 

     "Why all the poetry suddenly?" she teased, reaching out to tickle him. He dodged her fingers and flopped onto a blue chair, letting himself sink in to the overstuffed cushions. 

     "I'm tired, is all." 

     "Oh." The room lapsed into silence, even the studious ones in the corner seemed to acknowledge that the room needed solitude for just a few minutes and were quietly working a few formulas. Ginny suddenly sat up and broke the calm. 

     "Hey, have either of you seen Hermione?" Ron looked around. Yes, he realized, where WAS Hermione? He hadn't seen her in quite awhile, but hadn't really noticed she wasn't in her usual place by the bookshelf. Harry shrugged. 

     "Dunno, haven't seen her, have you, Ron?" Ron snapped his fingers. 

     "Isn't she supposed to be in Astronomy class? It's Wednesday, isn't it?" Harry nodded. 

     "Yeah, she must be with Professor Sinistra." Ginny brought a hand to her chin, seeming to ponder something. "What is it, love?" She shook her head very slowly. 

     "I don't think she is." She rose to go, and Harry looked after her curiously. 

     "Where are you going?" 

     "To see if she's upstairs. I'm worried about that girl." Ginny stood and went to the door leading up the long staircase to the dormitories. Harry shrugged and sunk back into the chair. Ron tapped his fingers together and the silence enveloped them. 

    He reflected pensively. Come to think of it, he thought frowning, he was worried about Hermione too. __

    They had gone ice skating in Hogsmeade, with Harry and Ginny laughing merrily, watching the snow float gently onto the solid ice. Ron spun around and around, observing the two closely. Holding mittened hands, they seemed to glide like ice fairies, bumping lightly into each other as they went along. 

    Ron smiled at them and was turning to Hermione to tell her he finally thought they made a great couple, when he saw the look on her face. The look of shock, as though the fact that Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley were the most famous couple of Hogwarts was new news to her. 

     "What's wrong?" he had asked. Getting no response, he skated slowly over to where she stood gasping the cold air, spewing out large clouds of mist. "Hermione?" 

    He tapped her shoulder, and she sprang to life like a clockwork doll, nervously tying and untying her bright orange scarf and knocking the snow out of her hair, trying her hardest to not to show the emotions she had been building up on. 

     "Nothing. Nothing's wrong." She had skated quickly away, avoiding everyone who tried to speak to her on her way to the skate shop. Ron turned back to ask Harry or Ginny what was wrong. But they were too busy gazing into each other's eyes underneath the sagging willow tree, lusty with snow and dripping with ice. 

    After he had coaxed them over to the new ice cream parlour ("Ice cream in December? Who ever heard of such a thing?" They had replied), sat them both down on the bar stools at the squeaky white counter and ordered chocolate for both, he began to look around the black and white tiled room for Hermione. 

    She was sitting by herself at one of the booths, looking at the tiny Wizard Wurlitzer jukebox. He stood, grabbed his dish and hat, and walked over to where she sat. 

     "Can I sit with you?" She had nodded without looking at him. She was flipping through song titles, over and over she had stared at them. Finally, she reached very slowly into her pocket and took out a Sickle. It clanked and jingled as she put it in the slot, and punched a number Ron couldn't see. 

There is a rose in Spanish Harlem 

A red rose up in Spanish Harlem 

It is a special one, it's never seen the sun 

It only comes out when the moon is on the run 

And all the stars are gleaming 

It's growing in the street right up through the concrete 

But soft and sweet and dreamin' 

__

    The song went on like that for awhile, playing softly through all the noise and chatter of the students in the ice cream shop. Ron was staring at Hermione, and she past him. He knew she was jealous. More jealous of any witch that ever existed. Jealous of his little sister. 

    Ron punched the arm of the chair he sat in absentmindedly and looked at the door Ginny had just gone through. He had a bad feeling, a very bad feeling about Hermione. Standing, he reached for the silver doorknob just as Harry rose and stood behind him. Something upstairs in the girl's dorms had crashed, both he and Harry had heard it, it sounded like a piece of glass, shattering through the calm, warm atmosphere down in the common room. They looked at each other and made up their minds. 

    Up the stone stairs, two at a time did they go. Never pausing to silence the girls who came out of the other dormitories until they reached the 4th year room. The door was already open, and they could see Ginny standing in the moonlight, over by a bed. 

    Upon entering the otherwise dark room, they saw it was Hermione's bed, but it was..._growing_. Lush plants covered the entire bed, from the canopy of Wysteria to the coverlet of thick Spanish roses to lush scented Azaleas, and then there was Hermione. 

    Lying in the middle of the bed as still as cinder block was she there, and past his shock he could hear Harry comforting the hysterical Ginny. Ron looked at her and had the vaguest sense that he was looking at someone else, that this wasn't Hermione, in a ghostly white dress lying on the enchanted bed, but the thought soon passed. 

     "Hermione, get up. It's not funny." He shook her back and forth, trying to bring her back to senses, but her hair just kept shimmering softly as pink and white rose petals rained down on the two of them. Just him and her. 

    Harry and Ginny had long since faded into the dark background, with the paintings and the chairs strewn about the room, and it was just the face of Hermione, ghostly Hermione with the crimson lips and the hair shining like the night sky he could see. 

Just Hermione. 


	3. In Life's Waiting Room

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Ron and Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger and any other characters from the Harry Potter series belong to J.K. Rowling and not Honoria Glossop. I give full credit to THE woman, and do not imply in any way that I own them. 

Author's note: Hey, everybody! It's time for more fun with Ron Weasley! Gimme an A! Gimme an N! Gimme a G! Gimme an S! Gimme a T! What does that spell? ANGST!! Yay! If you're going to review, I ask one simple question of you, despite the fact that this has nothing to do with the story. ^_^ Does anyone else besides me think that Remus Lupin should look like Kevin Kline when he played Artemus Gordon (sans the weird clothing and funky attitude) in Wild Wild West? *big grin* I know I DO! Keep watching for a new fanfic by moi about the 1st generation gang (including my dearest darlingest Remus, a thousand roses at his holy feet!) and the 2nd (I think I'm becoming a Ron/Hermione fan now that I'm writing these weird angsty fics). 

In the Waiting Room of Life 

Part of the Beautiful Death Series 

    Fifteen year old Ron Weasley was having deja vu. Sitting on a hardback chair in front of his blue and white chessboard against the far wall of the Gryffindor common room, he realized that the night had been a repetition of the same night Hermione had drank the Eternal Sleeping Potion. It had well been a month or so, and life had pretty much gone on the same for everyone.     

It was very true that Hermione was well-mourned directly after she fell asleep, but people were beginning to come out of their shells and living life again. Harry and Ginny were back to their usual selves, sitting around on the same sofa after Quidditch practice and laughing like nothing had ever happened. Of course, he had to be the one whose rehabilitation over such a thing had to be the longest.     

She was missed everywhere-from Herbology II to Charms, and especially Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall would stand in front of the class, her eyes blood shot from looking for the Anti-Eternal Sleep Spell, waiting patiently while they all sat in murderous silence, wishing that Hermione was there to give out the answer.     

Even Snape seemed to be preoccupied with something, though, he thought with bitterness, it could be some dastardly plan to keep McGonagall's mind off the counter spell. The whole incident had not affected Draco Malfoy in one way or the other. Malfoy was Malfoy, unless he was hiding something, and Ron doubted that.     

Ron sighed. He reminded himself that Hermione wasn't dead, just in the deepest sleep possible for a long time. But people referred to her as "dead and unburied". Unburied was true, but they had honoured her by placing her in the Hogwart's Vault, something not even his brother Percy had ever heard of, deep within the recesses of the school.     

She was laid upon a marble platform, still in that ghostly white dress with the flowers from her enchanted bed surrounding her, not to mention the white and pink roses half the girls of the school had picked and filled the vault with. Despite its darkness and strange humidity, the flowers seemed to fill the room with unearthly presence, like a shrine or temple to a goddess. Which was now exactly what Hermione was, in his own opinion.     

The teachers had marched everyone from each of the four houses through the vault, so students could see her one last time before the vault was closed but not sealed entirely. Snape was mandated to take the Slytherins there, and he argued later that it was "simply so they could either see the effects of the Eternal Sleeping Potion or the effects of daydreaming about boys too much".     

His brothers George and Fred had stod through with solemnity, to his great surprise, until he saw that they had surrounded the bottom of the marble platform with salamanders, spiders, toads and frogs-and were promptly given detention by McGonagall. They were still laughing from the whole ordeal.     

Harry and Ginny had held tightly on to one another as the Gryffindors had been shown through, and he had kept his eye on his sister to see her reaction. She looked frightened, as though she thought Hermione's drastic actions had been done by her hand alone. Harry had simply said nothing the whole time, and kept his eyes on Hermione, pale and white with blood red lips and her soft hands clasped together at her rib cage.     

>He himself, of course, had paid his respects with humility, wondering with sadness how she could ever believe for one second that no one loved her, and that just because Harry was Ginny's boyfriend meant that she had no purpose. As he had moved silently around her, a single thought ran through his mind-Was she thinking of me when she fell asleep?     

He had heard rumours that her ghost would walk the earth as long as she was in the stupor, and he didn't particularly like the idea of looking up all of a sudden and seeing Hermione's spirit staring at him. Everyone knew that unhappy people (like Moaning Myrtle, he remembered remorsefully), when taken suddenly into the Eternal Sleep or death, would haunt the ones they knew until their catatonic state was avenged.     

He reached a freckled hand forward and motioned for his white queen to take the black knight sitting across the table from him, and was about to rotate the chess board and take over the black side, when something rather peculiar happened. The black queen moved forward and took his white bishop. Ron stared at the pieces incredulously.     

"Black bishop, 3B," he said, trying a command, but the black pieces stared at him as though he were crazy. He leaned on his elbow, trying to figure out just what had gotten into the chess pieces, but whatever had been making them go against what he wanted was gone.     

"Odd. Very odd indeed." Suddenly there was laughter from over on the far side of the room. Harry was telling Ginny something, and she was staring at him in shock, and then they were laughing like nobody's business, having the time of their lives. Ron shook his head and moved his rook forward three spaces.     

"Check," he said triumphantly, smiling at the pieces. Presently the black knight moved forward shakily and ousted the attack. Another few moves, more laughter from Harry and Ginny. Ron was beginning to get sick of them now that Hermione was dead-or as good as, he reminded himself. Glaring over at their giggling, he pushed his queen forward-into a trap.     

"Oh, no!" he moaned, knowing it was the end. The pieces had been set up as a trap to get him into checkmate, but how would the other side declare it? He knew from experience that check or checkmate had to be declared.     

A breeze picked up in the room, sending warm spring air through the open window, and riding on the breeze was a small square of yellowed parchment. Ron glanced up from his vigil to see if checkmate were declared to see it land on the middle of the board with surprising force, knocking over the black king. It read: 

Checkmate, Ron. 


	4. So Easy to Ignore

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Ron and Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Pavarti Pavil and all other names from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling and not to Honoria Glossop. No infringement intended. 

Author's Note: A Flaming Molotov Cocktail is when you take a glass bottle, fill it with a flammable substance, stick a rag in the top, light the rag, and throw it. Usually it blows up and catches stuff on fire. 

So Easy to Ignore 

  


    She sat across from Ron, her arms crossed and a smug grin on her face. Hermione was beginning to like having a lost soul, it offered her such opportunity to see what was going on without actually being present. He was sitting in the chair in front of the white set of chess pieces, staring at the parchment note she had let fly in the window. It was funny to see him scratch his head and look around the room, as though he believed his brothers were playing more tricks on him. 

    The chess game had been good, Hermione had beat Ron because his mind was set on Harry and Ginny-obviously he was having second thoughts about his approval of their little relationship. She had pulled together the stunt with the mysterious paper with her declaration of checkmate, forcing him to lose the game. Yes, she thought, magic really is beneficial to me. More than I know. 

    Poor Ron, she thought sadly. I really do miss him, even though we fight all the t-no, that wasn't possible. She caught herself in time and saved herself from something like regret for what she had done. The Eternal Sleeping Potion was eternal, it lasted forever, finito, end of story. 

    Of course, McGonagall simply had to try and search for the counter-potion, even though there wasn't one. She was grateful for her professor's concern, but Hermione had already apparitioned herself to the Ministry of Magic to see if there was, searching through all the old dusty worm-filled books of spells and potions only to find the recipes for The Most Dangerous Love Potions, Animal Potions, Oven Cleaning Potions, How to Win Friends and Influence People Potions (she was considering looking this one up again, if she ever woke up, to use on Snape and Cho Chang), and variations on the Polyjuice Potion. She found the recipe she had used to make the sleeping potion, but a line of added text told her that there was no reversal to it, Eternal Means Eternal And That Is That. 

    Standing and crossing the room, she continued what she had been doing before she sat down to vex Ron by moving his chess pieces. And that was slyly observing Ginny and Harry. Now that she was invisible to everyone, she was just a fly on the wall. 

     "Oooh, Harry!" Ginny had squealed at least 40 times in the past 10 minutes. "You're so good and great and wonderful and..." Ginny was a sweet kid, thought Hermione, but she needed a thesaurus. Badly. Shaking her head, she once again had to save herself from regret for doing what she did. It wasn't that she didn't like Ginny, the poor kid just sounded like a broken record. 

     "...and smart..." _Harry, your intelligence is like the celestial heavens. Forever changing but always dependable and reliable._

     "...and so good-looking..." _Your eyes are illustrious like jade stones, flickering in candlelight in the faraway distant Orient lands..._

     "...and brave..." Hermione smiled at this one. _You courage holds more than a candle to the Muggle movie star Indiana Jones, him and that giant rolling stone in the temple..._ She began humming the familiar tune from the Muggle movie. 

    But soon she became depressed and tired of Ginny's ever-repeating stream of compliments to the ever-smiling Harry, and had seen Ron playing chess all by himself, looking forlorn and sad. That's too bad, she thought to herself, Ron looks so unhappy. I wonder what he's thinking about. 

    The next day, Hermione followed Harry and Ron to all of their classes. Nothing much happened-Salves in Herbology, Confusion Spells in Potions, and rats into roller skates in Transfiguration. It wasn't until lunch in the Great Hall that Hermione noticed something was wrong. 

    She had been following a 6th year Hufflepuff around, making fun of the haughty way she was walking. Changing her ghostly white outfit to the girl's stylish uniform and hairdo, Hermione stuck her nose up in the air and kept time with the girl's pace. It was fun, she decided, being a ghost. No grades to worry about, no one to tease her about her teeth or her hair, and most importantly, she could make fun of anyone she wanted to. 

    Then she had looked over at the Gryffindor table, totally by chance, to see the shocked round face of Ron Weasley staring at her. Hermione frowned. Had he seen her? Ron had made no indication whatsoever so far that he had detected her presence throughout the entire month she had been sleeping. 

    She made her way over easily, passing through people and tables and chairs. It was odd becoming accustomed to it, but once you got the hang of it, she thought, it was really neat. She paused near Draco Malfoy. 

     "So now Weasley's got it in for that Mudblood girl and can't stop leaving her half-dead corpse in rest! I heard from Pavarti Pavil that his father makes..." he leaned in closer to whisper to the rest of his group. Hermione rolled her eyes and pointed at the dish of gravy. In a flash, it was on Malfoy's head and running down his face, into his ears and eyes, and he was shouting as though she had thrown a Molotov Cocktail at him. 

     "WHO DID THAT? WHO DID THAT? YOU'RE GOING TO PAY FOR THIS!" She giggled at the sight of his red face and of Snape coming over to yell at him and passed through another set of tables and chairs until she came to where her friends sat. 

     "Would you look at that, Ron? Malfoy's got an enemy other than us! I wonder who was smart enough to go for the gravy..." Hermione beamed at this compliment from Harry, but was startled to hear no response from Ron. Turning to see what was the matter, she gasped, as he was looking straight at her with the most incredulous look on his face. 

     "H-harry? Turn and look to your right." 

     "What about the space right there?" 

     "Y-you don't happen to see anything right there, do you?" 

     "No, of course not, what are you getting at, Ron?" Ron placed a hand to his forehead. 

     "Good, I figured I was going crazy." Hermione stared after him as he ran out of the Great Hall to the infirmary. Ron in the Vault looking for her? Ron playing chess with her and seeing her? How could that be? Powers of wishing? She hoped it was all a bad dream-then stopped to remind herself that she really was asleep. 


	5. Washing Her Hands in the Guilt

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Ron and Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger, and any other characters of the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling and not Honoria Glossop. Rights are neither implied nor claimed, so you can't sue me. NYAH! ;) 

Author's Note: Somebody out there (I can't recall who) wanted a little variety in the series, so here's a different perspective of what's going on. 

No one is allowed to complain about this one, because I've specially made it so it doesn't go with the mainstream plot, and so it satisfies what Ginny is thinking. 

It's about 1:30 in the morning right now, and I'm going to bed after I post this. *YAWN* 

Washing Her Hands in the Guilt 

    Ginny watched her brother's face turn from boredom to absolute incredulity in about 3 seconds, and followed his gaze across the noisy and terribly busy Great Hall to a group of 6th year Hufflepuffs. He didn't have a crush on one of them, did he? No, that wasn't possible. He'd always fancied Hermione, but it wasn't exactly a crush. 

    The loud pandemonium that ensued soon after Draco Malfoy somehow had a boat of gravy dumped on his head soon forced such thoughts out of her head and she pretended not to notice or pay attention when Ron ran out of the Great Hall saying something about being bonkers or out of his mind. She and Harry sat for a little while more, enjoying each other's company and the din of the rest of the students eating. 

     "Ginny, did you notice something wrong with Ron?" She turned from her pumpkin juice to gaze into his clear green eyes. 

     "No, why do you ask?" He shrugged at this. 

     "No reason." She sighed and nervously drank the rest of her juice. Yes, she thought, I did notice. Something is up with Ron and I know it has something to do with Hermione. The guilt washed over her again, and she had to close her eyes to force the tears back that had been plaguing her for a month. Ever since Hermione had drank that stupid, stupid sleeping potion, she had been filled with guilt. 

    Guilt that she was Harry's girlfriend. Ginny knew it was insensible, to be thinking about Hermione in that way at a time like this, when the moment was just right to be sneaking out with Harry to the Quidditch field and stealing a few gazes, but she couldn't help it. Great, she thought, Ginny Weasley has the most perfect boyfriend in the whole world and she feels nothing but guilt. 

    Of course she knew Hermione was head over heels in love with Harry, she wondered how Harry didn't notice it himself; the way she just looked at him, the tone she used to speak to him, it was all so obvious and yet she just kept pretending not to know anything, masking the great jealousy she had for Hermione's talent in making boys fall for her. 

    Like Ron. She knew he wouldn't admit it, not in a century, but Ron did think Hermione was something else. They're like a-were like a married couple, she concluded, always arguing over something so useless and yet it was all superficial. Ginny wondered if Hermione ever thought of Ron the way she thought of Harry. 

    Then her thoughts came back to herself, and Hermione in the vault. Lying there on the white marble platform, all supernaturally beautiful, surrounded by the flowers picked by the perpetually crying girls of the school, and so lustrious it took her breath away and she marveled at how serious everyone was. And she, Ginny Weasley, was the only one in the entire school who knew the reason Hermione had done it. Because of her. 

    Had I been a lesser person, she thought with remorse, I wouldn't be having this conversation with myself. She smiled at Harry superficially and stood to leave. 

     "Where are you going?" He looked up at her. 

     "Oh, nowhere. I just want to walk and think." She smiled and he took the hint. 

     "Alright. But hurry back," he called as she walked faster and faster out of the room. Harry was so sweet and innocent about all this. Why, why, why, why did he not see? Were those glasses rose-coloured in disguise? She clicked her heels angrily against the tiled corridor, not knowing who to blame for the whole thing and not knowing where she was going. 

     "How could all of us be so stupid? Why don't any of us communicate with each other?" she muttered, passing door after door, then slowing to a stop outside of a large black metal double door. The vault. 

     "Locked, but not sealed," the teachers had said. And with enough determination, she knew, she could crack it and see Hermione again. 

    Forty spells and two hairpins later, she quickly swept through the doors, closing them as quietly as she could, trying to be discreet although she was convinced someone had seen her. She turned and reached for her wand again. 

     "Lumos." Ginny was standing at the top of a very long staircase she remembered from not two weeks ago. It seemed longer and steeper now that she was on her own, and she considered going back. But her feet told her differently, and obidiently she moved down the stairs, keeping her back to the wall. 

    The vault was not a well-visited place, full of dark corners, large, sticky cobwebs and odd statues around all the pillars that held the ceiling upright. It was all marble, from the ground up, and was hardly ever used. Ginny took a deep breath of what she thought would be musty or humid air, and came across the sweetness of spring roses. She looked down and saw the stairway littered with rose petals. 

     "Goodness, I never thought Hermione would be so popular." Her voice echoed back to her wistfully and suddenly she wished Harry was beside her. Ginny turned a corner and very suddenly came the sweeping expanse of THE vault. It was very vast, strangely well lit by thousands of candles floating in the air, and very lush, with flowers everywhere. 

    And of course, in the middle of all this, like Sleeping Beauty herself, lay Hermione Granger. Ginny tried to calm herself and her rapidly beating heart, but soon had to give up for fear that she might faint if she wasn't hyperventilating. One foot in front of the other, again and again, and immediately there she was. Standing on the base of Hermione's platform. 

    She was now covered with a silk cover that she was still visible under, with her pure and small hands still clasped together after what seemed years, and her hair that was daintily done up by one of the girls in Ravenclaw was still fanned out over a set of red velvet cushions, as was her head. S 

    Hermione was so real, so right there, and Ginny was afraid, terrified, absolutely frightened out of her mind that she might sit up and glare at her. 

     _"Who do you think you are, Ginny Weasley? Look what YOU have done to me, this is all YOUR fault, girl! Get out! GET OUT! You don't deserve to be down here, now GO!"_

     "NO!" she cried, stumbling backwards onto the carpeted sea of flowers. "NO, it's not my fault! Oh, Hermione, I didn't mean anything! I just wanted...I just wanted..." And then she realized that Hermione hadn't said anything at all. She was still lying there, perfect and dainty and ever so much like a china doll that Ginny felt sad for her. 

    And she ran, ran far away from the china doll, up the set of stairs, out the doors, and into Gryffindor's common room. 


	6. A Spanish Rose

****

    Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Ron and Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger, and all other characters from the Harry Potter series belong to the Great JK Rowling and not to Honoria Glossop. 

    Author's Note: Hey, everybody! I know, I know, I've been so BAD about posting this, but unfortunately I have finals coming up along with a dozen projects and Preterite Subjunctive to study in my Spanish class. No, I am not dead like some people may say, that's Hermione's part in this. 

    I must mention to you all that I have seen messages or emails, I can't remember which, declaring how beautiful death is, and that kind of disturbs me. ^_^ I'm not saying you guys are wrong, it's just that you have to remember that Hermione is NOT dead, her ghost is roaming around while I try to think up a plot. I don't particularly believe that Death is beautiful, this is just my way of getting Hermione hooked up with Ron (or will it be HARRY? Ooooooh! It's a mystery!) 

    NOTE TO JAXX: QUIT GIVING MY PLOT AWAY! :) There. Now if anyone wants to know the ending, you can go read all of Jaxx's reviews and find out. If you don't, then don't go read them. Love ya, Jaxx, you're great. :) 

Spanish Rose 

     "Are you feeling alright, Ron?" Harry's voice carried rather well in the Great Hall despite all the voices and clattering of plates and silverware, and Ron wished that he would tone it down a bit before Madam Pomfrey came over and dragged him off to the infirmary. 

     "I-I'm fine, Harry. I just have a headache, is all." He stood and pushed his way through groups of 2nd and 3rd years who were debating which house had the better Quidditch seeker, and the noise soon subsided in his ears as he left the room. 

     "Ay me. Blasting headache, what is wrong with me today?" Down the corridors, up several flights of stairs, down various more, around the loop, tickling three doors and cursing several more, through the courtyard, through the fat lady painting, and into Gryffindor's common room he went. The fat lady in a pink dress smiled at him kindly as he whispered "Glockenspiel", but didn't ask why he was skipping out of lunch. 

    Ron knew exactly what he was doing and knew exactly where he was going, he simply needed to think of an alibi in case one of the teachers or Filch caught him. 

    I'm looking for my Potions book. I want my chessboard back. Harry told me to meet him here. I was just leaving for lunch. I feel sick. Too many alibis, not enough time to think them all through carefully enough. 

    He stood in the somewhat circular common room, contemplating all the things that could happen if he did this wrong. It was all too eerie, too strange for him to be around and breaking rules. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. 

    Taking a deep breath as he climbed the stairs to the the boys dorms, he asked himself over and over and over if he was really going to do it. Stealing was a great moral offense, his mother had told him countless times, but his father had often said, "There is no such thing as stealing. There is, however, borrowing and forgetting to give something back." 

    He pushed open the door to the 5th year's dorm. His sight drifted past the poster beds, the curtains and the closets lying open, the bookcases filled with talking books, biting books, and invisible books, to Harry Potter's school trunk. 

     "Here goes nothing," he sighed. Harry was absolutely going to KILL him if he found out, and he had to work quickly. Pulling his wand out with a flick of his wrist, he proceeded to whisper the charm only he and Harry knew, to open the trunk. 

    The brass lock twisted slowly open, ever so reluctantly and he hinges squeaked and whined a warning out to him, but with blood rushing in his ears and his eyes darting about the room, Ron didn't exactly notice. 

     "Oh, God..." There it sat. All silvery and shiny and smooth, just as he remembered it from the last time they had used it. Harry had locked it up, just in case, just for protection, he had said. Ron reached for the Invisibility Cloak, shutting the screaming, rusted hinges on the trunk as quietly as possible. 

     "Too beautiful, too beautiful..." 

    It glided through his fingers like water through silk. Ron found the hood and put it on quickly, checking to make sure he was completely invisible in the wall mirror, who complained loudly that there was nothing to look at, then retreated down the staircase back to the Common Room. 

    The place was empty, there was not even a fire in the fireplace. It was eerie, being invisible in an empty room. Ron stepped quietly across the thick maroon rugs, and as usual almost slipped on them because of the deepness of the fibers. 

    Pulling the entrance painting open slowly, he looked through the crack to see if Snape or anyone else was outside the door, waiting. The fat lady was asleep now, and she snorted softly in her slumber as he crept past, hoping she wouldn't wake up, for the life of him. 

    Ron Weasley had been under the Invisibility Cloak before, but never alone and unknown until now. He didn't like it too well, he had only caught himself in time before bumping into at least 3 teachers and maybe half a dozen more students more than once, he wondered how Harry moved about so easily. 

     "Well, it must take practice," he thought to himself. He turned down a fourth hallway that was slightly darkened, mostly because the candles hanging in the holders on the walls had burned out and no one had bothered to light them again. 

    Then he saw it. If he hadn't been looking for it, he would never have even found it, and Ron guessed that of the few people passing through the hallway he was standing in had been walking past it, they would never have seen it. 

    A set of black iron doors glowered behind an old tarnished suit of armour, daring him simply to look at them. Ron hurried over breathlessly to look at them, knowing where they led. Hogwart's Vault. Pushing aside the once silver armour, he noted quickly that someone had visited the Vault quite recently, the doors were slightly open. 

    Ron pulled at the doors, which gave easily and almost threw him backwards with their force. Yes, someone had definitely been here, light was being thrown off the walls from down the stairs. He slithered down a couple stairs, tugged the doors behind him shut, and began his descent. 

    It was a very tedious process, his back pressed flat against the wall despite that he had the cloak on. Ron couldn't see anything for long periods of time until he turned corners on the staircases, but he could smell rose petals, they were obviously strewn along the floor. 

     "Lord, I thought I'd never make it," he sighed in a whisper. The staircase suddenly opened up, and he was in the main artery of the vault. It was a large room, smelling of fresh flowers and perfumes with a musty undersmell that actually made it better, with maroon and navy diamond tiled floors, walls with gold chipping paint on them, and white marble columns posted randomly to keep the ceiling from caving in, which it was far from doing. 

    Then he saw her, and he clapped a hand to his mouth to stop himself from crying out. There stood Ginny, pale faced and transfixed, who was staring with a petrified look on her face at Hermione, who was lying where she had been for a month. It was strange to see Ginny like this, why was she down in the vault? 

    He stood like that for sometime, watching Ginny watch Hermione, and suddenly it all clicked. Ginny felt guilty for Hermione. It was too obvious, and yet too complicated, and somehow, in the midst of everything, Ron felt tired. His feelings had been taxed to the bare layer over the month, and he was really feeling the affects of it all. Just as he was about to sit down and lean his back against one of the columns, though, Ginny let out a sob. He looked up. 

     "NO!" she shrieked, holding her hands up to her face. "NO, it's not my FAULT!" Ginny was stumbling backwards over the roses, and he quickly stood up so she wouldn't fall on him, but she only said something uninteligible, turned and ran. 

    It was all too odd, he thought. Ron was about to turn and go up the stairs himself, when something caught the corner of his eye, rushing past him. "

    Oh...my...God..." he breathed, letting the Invisibility Cloak slip off his head and shoulders to the floor. There was that blue outline again, floating not a foot off the cold tiles, watching him from next to a column, her pale blue arms crossed. He practically choked on the single word that came to mind. 

     "Hermione?" his voice seemed small in the darkness of the room. 

     "Ah, Ron. I've been waiting for an opportunity to talk to you." her voice had a slight echo to it, but not because of the emptiness of the room. He stared, turned a rather nasty shade of white, considered whether or not he was dreaming, doubted it, and was silent. She gazed at him a moment before continuing. 

     "You're confused." It wasn't a question. 

     "Well, yes. Obviously." He swallowed, a hundred million questions floating through his head, a hundred million decisions to make, which to ask first? The ghostly outline smiled slightly, causing a wave of emotions to fall over him. 

     "I can tell. Before you begin asking those questions I know you've got, let me tell you something right now." Hermione floated a little closer to Ron to get a better look at him in the dim candlelight. 

     "Are you going to tell me why I can see you?" he interrupted quickly. She shrugged, slightly annoyed, but continued. 

     "I have no idea why you are the only person who can see me, but I must admit I believe it has something to do with a cure for this big sleeping thing. Seeing as I'm probably the only person who ever pays attention in Potions," Here she stopped to look at him sternly, "The Eternal Sleeping Potion was very easy to make. All I had to do was add Wormwood to Ashphodel, and I had the 'draught of living death'. Hence the name Eternal Sleeping Potion." 

    Her voice drifted past him like a lazy river on a hot summer day. Ron looked up quickly to avoid her detection that he was basking in her presence rather than being brisk and businesslike and not being all woozy over her. 

     "Uh...Did you find the anti-potion? I'm guessing you've gone to the Ministry's library." Hermione nodded, floating in a circle around him in the cold air. As she brushed past, he expected a blast of cold air, like when he was around Sir Nick or the Fat Friar, but the breeze was actually warmer than the rest of the room. 

     "I looked, but there is no Potion, therefore I think it's safe to assume that there could be a charm or spell to reverse it. Or, perhaps, McGonagall and the rest of any teachers who have anything to do with this are wasting their time." Ron stepped closer to the thick blue lines jutting out through the air, he could see the rest of the room directly through her. Hermione looked so cartoonish, he thought, like she had been drawn on an elaborate background for amusement. 

     "Hermione," Ron said seriously. She stared. 

     "Hmm?" 

     "Now, Hermione, do tell me the truth. WHY did you make the Eternal-" 

     "Isn't that rather obvious, my dear Ron? It was because of Harry and Ginny. I believe the rumour mills have sorted that one out." she replied innocently. He sighed and gestured for her to continue. 

     "There are many questions to answer, but first we've got to get you out of this Vault and back upstairs before someone notices you're gone. Besides, I'm getting really confused with all your interrupting and rot." She pointed at the Invisibility Cloak as she said this, and he did not take his eyes off her as he reached down and slipped the cloak over his head and shoulders once more. 

     "Can you still see me?" She nodded, and they were about to begin climbing the stairs back up once more when Hermione stopped. "What?" 

     "Hold on, I never got to see myself when I became ghost." He waited as Hermione drifted over to the marble tomblike platform to gaze at her stone still body. Ron cleared his throat. 

     "One more thing." She tore her eyes away from herself to look at him. 

     "What?" They began moving up the staircase together, side by ghostly side. "

    Am I the only one who can hear you?" She grinned at him and he stared intently at the passing wall as they went upwards through her teeth. 

     "Maybe you are. Maybe Harry can hear me too..." 

     "Hermione!" 


	7. Signiore Stickyfingers

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, any and all other characters mentioned here belong to the sublime JK Rowling and her magic goose, Mr. Bubbles. *smirk* Just seeing if anyone catches that one. 

** Author's note: Yay, it's finally summer vacation for Hon! Unfortunately, this means I'm home all the time and that I have to be around a locked computer all the time because my dad is evil. Thanks to all who have reviewed, thanks to all who have patience and a good heart and stuff like that. I know how tough it is waiting for a fic you really like to be continued...*significant look at the unfinished "Gotcha!" series...coughcough...* Enjoy.**

    Ron Weasley sat alone in the Hogwarts library on Saturday evening, something totally unheard of by any student there, as he usually would have been off with his friend Harry Potter in the Gryffindor common room. But no, tonight he was alone in the library (save for Madam Pince who was at the time dusting the shelves for the 47th time) studiously grabbing books off shelves and pouring over them for his classes. 

    Or so it appeared. To the ordinary eye, it simply seemed he was furiously finishing a last-minute essay or studying up for a Transfiguration test, but his wasn't an ordinary eye. Floating next to him, totally invisible to anyone but him, was Hermione Granger. 

     "No, no, no! Not that one, silly!" She called out, directing him to certain pages she believed would solve the problem of her waking up. 

     "Why did you get yourself into this mess in the first place?!" He hissed, hoping no one would think him crazy for hissing at himself. Hermione's blue outline of a ghost put her hands on her hips. 

     "Why are you being so bitter tonight?" He quickly shot a look at her before looking back at the book on the table. "Look, I made a mistake. ONE little mistake in my life, and I want to fix it!" Seeing Ron was still not convinced, she came through the table to stand right in front of him. He pretended that nothing was happening by not looking at her but answered her holler. 

     "Fix it? Oh, NOW you want to fix your life, huh?" Ron was feeling terribly acerbic that evening, and he knew that Hermione felt that way too. It had been a long week, their searching through the library had been long and tedious, and he realized he had never hated books so much in his entire life. 

     "Yes, Ron," she replied sharply, "I do want to fix my mistake. Want to know what kind of STUPID mistake I made and I now admit? Hmm? I fell in love with Harry Potter, that's WHAT!" Ron sighed and threw up his hands, giving in and staring at her. 

     "Ay me," he muttered under his breath. 

     "Will you stop saying that?!" Hermione cried. "You are NOT Juliet!" Ron stared at her. 

     "Who?" She sighed in exhasperation. 

     "Never mind, just stop talking like that and find the pages we're looking for." Ron was about to protest that this was most certainly HER problem and NOT his when he opened the book Libro Encantada de los Amantes. He frowned and waved his wand over the cover, setting a temporary translation spell on it. "Enchanted Book of Lovers," he read aloud. 

    Hermione frowned and hovered in the air behind his back, wondering what he was doing. It was a musty old book, damaged by water with a torn royal purple fabric cover with a rusty gold lock that had been wrenched open and made the the book stand out from the others on the shelf. "Hmm..." 

    Ron pulled the book open and winced. 

     "What's wrong?" He pulled his hand off one of the pages. 

     "Looks like whoever published this book didn't do a good glue job. All the pages are sticky! Bleeargh..." Hermione wrinkled her nose. 

     "Ick. Read it and see what it says, PLEASE?" She pleaded. 

     "Alright, alright." He searched through the book, past Wishing Spells and Valentine's Day Spells, spells to make one's hair grow in case they had been locked up in a high tower with no way to get down but to cut off their hair and climb down it, Love Spells by the baker's dozen every few pages, and spells to make one's lover see the world through rose coloured eyes. 

    Ron turned page after page after page, the parchment making oozing sounds as he carefully pulled hunks of an amber paste from the edges of pages, trying to read the ancient text. 

     "Ugh-I don't understand why anyone would want to read this book if it keeps this up!" Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "Perhaps the author didn't want anyone to read the book. Maybe the book is cursed." 

     "No, I think the glue is just old and probably wearing out." "Wait! What does that page say?" Ron was so busy trying to keep his hands out of the sticky goo that he didn't see the heading on the page he was on. 

     "SLUMBER OF ETERNITY CURE," he read aloud. 

     "Of course!" squealed Hermione, looking pleased for the first time since Ron had begun to see her. 

     "I wonder why McGonagall hasn't found this before we have. Strange that this book just so happens to be here at Hogwarts..." Ron whispered to her. She shrugged, and they both leaned over the book, forgetting its ever-present stickiness to eagerly read what the inscribed text said: 

    _The Slumber of Eternity spell is that of a complex mix of herbs and rare ingredients. The potion is a cerulean blue hue, and when the drinker takes it, he or she does not awaken until-_" 

    Ron turned the page to read the next part. Unfortunately, the page was glued tightly to the back cover of the book. He tried and tried to unstick it carefully so it wouldn't tear, but his attempts were fruitless. Finally Hermione spoke. 

     "This is bad." Ron scowled back at her. 

     "Tell me about it." Hermione was about to shoot a sarcastic comment at him when- 

     "Hey, Ron." Ron slammed the book closed on his stuck hand and winced, then tried to cover with a pained smile. 

     "Oh, hallo-Harry." The tall, black haired boy sat warily down on the edge of a chair next to him, not noticing the way Ron was glaring at the space next to him, as though someone was standing there. 

     "What are you...doing?" he asked slowly, scrutinizing Ron's arm that was glued to the book. Ron smiled affectedly. 

     "Oh, just trying to unstick my hand from this soddy old book, got stuck, see?" 

     "Ah...yes. I do see. But-" 

     "Yes, well, do you remember any unsticking charms, perhaps? Buddy? Pal?" 

     "Well, not directly, but what are you doing looking in-" 

     "Right, then, Harry! Best be off, then. It's been a long day, can you tell?" Harry seemed to take Ron's fake smile as a hint and cautiously rose, gathered his books, and strolled out the library, not casting a single gaze backwards. Ron let out a relieved sigh. 

     "Honestly, Ron-" 

     "Save it, Herm. Right now I've got to figure out how to get-" he tugged on his arm with his other hand, "This dratted...thing...off...my...arm!" Hermione sighed patiently and waited. Finally he looked up. "Alright, Herm, what's the charm?" "_Appendicato depastificatus_." He sighed and waved his wand. 

     "Ouchouchouchouchou-there." Of course, in Ron's desperation and great pain, the book had flown open and the last page, the very last page was now visible. 

    Hermione motioned at it silently. Massaging his poor (and very likely damaged, he groaned inwardly) unfortunate hand, Ron read aloud once more. 

    _"-until, of course, they are awakened by their true love. As ridiculously simple as this may sound, it may take months or even years to find the sleeping person's true love. This potion was developed in 1603 AD by an unknown witch. See also the Sleeping Beauty Curse on page 107._" 

     "Sleeping Beauty Curse?" queried Hermione when he was silent once more. 

     "I suppose that means that you'll have to be awakened by the classic kiss-from-your-true-love. How corny." Ron answered with a hint of bitterness in his voice. 

     "But that could take years to find my so-called true love, and I don't even BELIEVE in true love!" cried the blue outline in exhasperation, ignoring his comment. Ron grinned at this. 

     "Well, it looks as though you do now," he said, standing and beginning to put the books back on their respective shelves. Hermione shook her finger at him and continued with a shaking voice, frantically zooming around him in circles as she cried out, 

     "Now, now, wait just a minute! W-what do you mean 'I do now'? What are you doing? Ron? Ron! Stop smirking at me, what on earth do you have in mind, are you suggesting-" she gasped suddenly, "NO! You wouldn't! You COULDN'T! You wouldn't DARE! Oh, RON!" Ronald Weasley leaned forward so their noses almost touched, grinning maliciously. 

     "Oh, yes, I am. Hermione Granger, I'm going to get every boy in this school to kiss you-" 

     "NO! RO-ON!" Hermione was looking rather flustered at the moment, so he grinned once more and continued airily, dramatically placing a hand over his freckled forehead: 

     "But you won't feel anything at all, plus you'll be the most kissed girl at this school!" He laughed and turned his back to her, practically throwing the rest of the books on the shelf and getting a death stare from Madam Pince. Hermione placed her clenched fists against her hips and tried very hard to to smile at his foolishness. 

     "But you and-" She stopped suddenly; he turned suddenly to gaze at her, serious once more. 

     "Me and who? Harry?" Ron's voice was hushed suddenly. Hermione took a deep breath; had she struck a nerve with him? 

     "Well, yes you said everyone-" Ron shrugged, hoping she couldn't hear the change in his tone of voice and the way he was rushing to leave. 

     "Maybe Harry isn't your true love. Perhaps your true love is, oh, I don't know, some American chap or an eskimo somewhere..." He whispered in response. Hermione threw up her hands and sighed, he was definitely acting weird. 

     "That's not what I'm saying. I'll explain later, but right now, don't do anything, er, drastic, please." And with those words, she faded out of his sight. He stared after where her figure had been floating, whispering to himself. 

     "...or maybe he's been right in front of you since Day One..." 


	8. Raindrops Falling On Her Head

Disclaimer: Harry "Frat Boy" Potter, Hermione "Blind Eye" Granger, Ron "Lancelot" Weasley, Ginny "Sailor V" Weasley, and anybody else I've mentioned belong to JK "Miss Moneypenny" Rowling and her magic goose Mr. "Goosio" Bubbleater and not to Honoria "Miss Demeanor" Glossop. 

**Author's Note: *singing* Yes, you're playing with the biiiig boooys noooooooow!!! Sorry, I love that song. Yeah, yeah, yeah. It's about midnight, I'm gonna post this, yadda, yadda, yadda. The song I've included belongs to BJ "The Man" Thomas and not me. It was featured in "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid". Yay. *runs off singing something about "By the power of RA!"* Oh yeah, Jaxx? In response to your a/n in that last fic? You're welcome. *winkwink***

Raindrops Falling On Her Head 

    It was finally Christmas at Hogwarts. Ron had taken the day off from teasing her about all the kisses she would get when the holidays were over, and she had stopped squealing that it wasn't fair that HE of all people had to be the one to be able to see her. 

    Ron was still helping her sort through the mountains of information pertaining to the Eternal Sleeping Spell, which was actually a very intreaguing subject, but she could tell his patience was wearing thin. Sitting in the school library night after night definitely wasn't his cup of cocoa, and they still hadn't retreived much on the search for her so-called true love. 

    The night he had read aloud those few words of the charm that would wake her up was beginning to be a nightmare. At first, she had almost screamed with joy that Harry might be her one and only, but taking years and months to find someone? 

     "I could be asleep for decades upon decades," she sighed miserably. She was beginning to have serious doubts about Harry, he certainly didn't act as though he cared at all about her being asleep for decades. 

    Hermione rotated herself in a slow aerial somersault and winced as Ginny rested her head on Harry's shoulder. They were the only two in the common room (or so they thought, she reminded herself) that Christmas evening, just before the feast. 

    Silence prevailed over the three, the fireplace crackled happily and golden warmth seemed to eminate throughout the very room itself. The warmth was wasted on Hermione, however, and this made her even more so depressed. 

    Hermione hovered as close to the now precious floor as she could, praying that Ron wouldn't suddenly walk in and see her. Why, why, why, WHY? Why did she have to be so stupid? Why did she take the potion? 

    _I was so sure it would solve everything, she thought angrily. I was so wrong, so incredibly wrong, and now look at me. Sitting here like some desparate fool, watching the only boy I've ever been in love with kiss his girlfriend._

    She sighed again and contemplated throwing the ugly vase sitting on one of the coffee tables at Harry's head, perhaps to make him be able to see her. Instead she thought of an old song she had heard once. 

_Raindrops keep fallin' on my head And just like the guy whose feet are too big for his bed Nothin' seems to fit Those raindrops are fallin' on my head, they keep fallin'_

    That certainly was true. Nothing ever seemed to fit for her, she was always the student out of place because of her studiousness. Hermione smiled. That was terribly redundant but was the awful truth. How did the rest of it go? Oh, yes: 

_So I just did me some talkin' to the sun And I said I didn't like the way he got things done Sleepin' on the job Those raindrops are fallin' on my head, they keep fallin' But there's one thing I know The blues they send to meet me won't defeat me It won't be long till happiness steps up to greet me_

    The tune was so familiar, she just hovered there, humming along with the melody. And it was so true. Hermione knew she had to take control of the whole of the situation because it was her problem. The question was, could she do it by herself? 

_Raindrops keep fallin' on my head But that doesn't mean my eyes will soon be turnin' red Cryin's not for me 'Cause I'm never gonna stop the rain by complainin' Because I'm free Nothin's worryin' me_

    The smile once again appeared on her features. Of course not! She didn't have anything to complain about; life was easy being asleep all the time, plus she could be in the oddest of places without having to worry about being seen. Then a thought struck her. What of Ron? She had often thought about that subject, as to why he was the only one who could see and hear her, and why he was so willing to help her. 

_Raindrops keep fallin' on my head But that doesn't mean my eyes will soon be turnin' red Cryin's not for me 'Cause I'm never gonna stop the rain by complainin' Because I'm free Nothin's worryin' me_

    Ron. He was so incredibly aggravating, so infuriating, so devious and ready to break the rules for anyone. She argued with him practically every second of their existence, even when she was asleep and pretty well off dead, but he seemed to like helping her out by searching through all the information. 

    So? 

    _So,_ she thought, coming close to one of those moments of realization when everything comes to a sudden halt and you forget what's going on in front of you, _He must have some ulterior motive._ But Ron? Of all people? 

     "It just doesn't make sense!" she cried, not caring if he was standing right behind her (but she looked around just the same). "Why would Ron be the only person able to see me? It couldn't be Professor McGonagall or Headmaster Dumbledore or even Harry or Ginny or Neville, for heaven's sake, but RON?" 

    And then her train of thought crashed. Flying scraps of ideas and shrapnel of memories came colliding together, sending her mind and senses reeling. 

    No, it didn't make sense. Unless... 

    _"But you and-" She stopped suddenly; he turned back to gaze at her, serious once more. _

    "Me and who? Harry?" Ron's voice was hushed suddenly. Hermione took a deep breath; had she struck a nerve with him? 

    "Well, yes you said everyone-" 

    "Maybe Harry isn't your true love. Perhaps your true love is, oh, I don't know, some American chap or an eskimo somewhere..." He whispered in response. 

     "Unless he's been standing in front of me for four years." 


	9. Unchained Melody

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Ron and Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger all belong to JK Rowling. The title Unchained Melody belongs to the Righteous Brothers. Blah, blah, blah. Does anyone ever read these disclaimers? 

**Author's Note: This is it, the one you've all been waiting for. The last installment. Love and thanks to everyone who's reviewed my stories, your comments have been MUCH appretiated, you guys do NOT know how much!**

Unchained Melody 

    Ludicrous. That was the only word to describe the whole situation. And, perhaps, stupid or moronic or idiotic or maddening, but ludicrous was the perfect word at the time, Ron decided. 

    The new year had finally come and gone, with students pouring back through Hogwarts Station and back into their cozy dormitories. Harry and Ginny were as much lovey-dovey as they had ever been, possibly more (If that was possible, he thought with a wince. Mi Amore? What kind of a nickname was THAT and what did it mean? It was gibberish, but Ginny certainly did approve of it as her new nickname), and himself? He was just about to give up on Hermione. 

    How was he supposed to carry out the plan he promised? Helping Hermione find her "true love"? She was right, it was insane. He knew it was no laughing matter, but attempting to convince all the boys in their 4th year to sneak down into the Vault and kiss a cold-lipped Hermione, the epitome of seriousness and model student? Ludicrous, ludicrous, ludicrous. 

    And all for what? They would ask. What could be in it for them? How was he going to solve this for Hermione? He dropped his head onto the table he was sitting at, letting it make a hollow _bonk_. It was a comforting noise. He raised his head and let it drop again, letting a breeze woosh past his ears and muss his hair. 

    It was all so confusing, he thought. Why had the book that had the spell to reverse the potion been right there in Hogwarts' library? It was maddening; hadn't Hermione said she had apparitioned herself to the Ministry of Magic to check through their books (which was terribly illegal, come to think of it, how had she been able to get past the guards there) ? 

    And hadn't she said that she couldn't find a book in the whole lot of the place on that subject, except to provide the recipe? Oh, it hurt his freckled head just thinking about it. Perhaps a nice mug of hot chocolate would solve everything, but until then... 

    _Bonk...bonk...bonk...bonk...bonk..._

     "What are you doing?" said an amused but sarcastic voice in his ear. 

     "Sod it, Hermione, I can't figure this out." he moaned, tugging on his hair. 

     "Can't figure what out?" Ron sighed. It was difficult enough, her being all moony-eyed over Harry, but everyone else? He was going nuts already. 

     "This." He gestured at the table without meaning to. She (rather, her outline) blinked. 

     "The table?" Ron laughed. 

     "No, no, this. THIS!" Hermione did a graceful turn in the air to face him. 

     "Listen, Ron..." He lifted his head from the table to look at her, knowing that no student in their right mind would be in the library Saturday morning. Except him. Hermione's eyes widened, and she gave a short laugh. 

     "What?" She pointed at his nose. 

     "You've been hitting your head on the table, and your nose got all red!" Ron rubbed his nose self-conciously, making it even more so. 

     "I know that's not the reason you wanted to talk to me, so go on," he remarked. It didn't really seem to matter if anyone saw him talking to a blank space of air anyway, it wasn't like they didn't think he was off his rocker in the first place. 

     "Well, I think I've finally figured out why you're the only person who can see me." Really? He raised his head again to look at her. Hermione wrung her hands back and forth, twisting them and making for a very strange spectacle. He stood. 

     "Let's walk." 

     "Or, in my case, float," she offered lightly, gliding backwards as they left. 

    The odd pair made their way down the wooden corridors, past the vacant classrooms, gaping and solemn in their solitude; past the infirmary and the constantly screechy voice of Madame Pomfrey ("Now, now, dears! Eat your chocolate, else there won't BE a leave of absence for any of you!" A collective groan was heard soon after this outburst); and past the new location of Sir Cadogan's portrait ("Avast, ye scurvy dogs! Fie, get thee hence!"). 

    Left foot right foot left foot right foot...Ron bounced down the stone steps outside the entrance of the school, happy to be outside after a long week. It was surprisingly sunny and actually warm, which was rare in late February. 

     "Alright, what did you want to talk about?" Ron said, sitting in the early spring grass that jutted up through the cold, indifferent earth that had been silent all winter. 

     "Well, Ron, as you know, you're the only person you can see me," she began, not knowing if that was the right way to start a conversation in which one tells another that they are their true love. Ron nodded at this. 

     "And I think I know why." He leaned forward, watching the clouds drift by. One that looked suspiciously like Snape's face suddenly melted into the figure of a pair of eyeglasses. 

     "Do tell," he said lightly. Hermione wanted to take a deep breath at this point, then remembered she couldn't. There was a pause. Ron blinked and decided that maybe the eyeglasses now looked more like a rabbit... 

     "It's you." Ron sat straight up, looking utterly confused. 

     "What do you mean?" Hermione waved her hands back and forth, flustered. 

     "You know..." She gave him a desparate look. He raised his eyebrows. 

     "Noo..." She gave an annoyed whine and he laughed at this. 

     "You...are...mytruelove!" Hmm...maybe the rabbit was turning itself into a top hat-wait a minute... 

     "WHAT?!" Ron sat up quickly, his voice echoing against the stony gray walls of the castle. He blinked quickly several times and shook his head slowly. 

     "Ro-on, it's the only logical explanation!" 

     "LOGICAL EXPLANATION?!" He was becoming slightly hysterical. 

     "Calm down, it's the only answer as to why you can see me," she replied. This was news indeed. He was her true love? Something inside him told him to jump up and down a few times and run down to the Vault and just kiss her, see if it worked; something else said WAIT A MINUTE, that's not right! What about Harry? 

     "What ABOUT Harry..." he murmured. 

     "What did you say, Ron?" 

     "Mmm, nothing." Hermione stared at him, sitting underneath a tree with a dazed look in his eye, chewing his nails to busted ends. 

     "So...?" Hermione was beginning to be afraid that Ron had gone catatonic at her theory. 

     "Hmm?" He looked up, still chewing on his nails. 

     "So, are you going to try to wake me up or not?" There was a long pause. 

     "It's the only way to find out." Ron headed for the castle, practically at a run, with the ghostly Hermione trying her best to keep up with the read-headed boy. 

    Up the front steps, around the seal in the floor and down the hall, Ron couldn't remember a time when he had been more nervous. Hermione couldn't remember a time when she had been more suspicious of Ron than that moment. Of course, what did either of them have to lose? Ron skidded to a stop. There was a pause, and he turned to look at her. 

     "Are you absolutely sure of this?" He whispered as they stood outside the black metal doors. Hermione stared at him closely and bit her lip. 

     "Yes," she said carefully. Ron took a deep breath, shoved his shoulder against the door, and the doors swung heavily open. They made their way down the twisting marble staircase as silently as any fourteen-year-old boy and blue outline of a girl could. 

    The perfume from the countless sprays of flowers had receeded slightly, but they still overpowered the mustiness of the dank Vault. 

    Ron stopped suddenly, and Hermione, who wasn't exactly paying attention to where they were going but was checking to see that no one had followed them, floated right through him. 

     "Wait," he whispered, after the initial shock had passed and he had surpressed the urge to cry out, "Wait." Hermione turned to gaze at him. His eyes seemed almost glassy, was he having second thoughts out of fear? What could go wrong? 

     "C-could you, I mean, would you...I don't know, not watch?" he said as offhandedly as possible. She blinked, surprised, but nodded as well. Ron took a deep breath. He had never kissed a girl before, let alone a sleeping one, but, he reminded himself, it was for the good of Hermione. 

    He cautiously took a step forward, and craned his neck around to see the hem of Hermione's dress poking out from behind one of the columns. Another step, then another, and pretty soon he was standing on the small ledge of the block of white marble she lay upon. 

    Ron bit his lip, hard, and tasted blood. He looked back one more time, just to make absolute sure that she wasn't watching, got a little nearer...a little closer...just a few more centimeters and he'd be right next to Hermione's face. 

    And then, it all made sense. It was Fate that had brought him this close to her. Fate that had set the enchanted book of lovers in the library. Fate that had pulled that last page from the back of the book. And perhaps Fate had pulled her away from Harry. Keeping that in mind, Ron took another deep breath, closed his eyes, and leaned over her. 

    Suddenly, he was rushing backwards in a whirlwind of grinning yellows and spinning reds, sunshined mornings and white picket fences, from his first broomstick ride to smelling roses to ice cream on hot summer afternoons and fireworks and trumpets and catching fireflies under a purple sky with an iridescent half moon. It was wonderful and colourful and confusing and it was the strangest thing he had ever felt. 

    And just as soon as it had come, it vanished as he stood straight, almost gasping for air. Ron bit his lip again and waited for Hermione to open her eyes. And waited. Finally he turned to see her outline floating a few meters away. 

     "Well?" he asked her. She sighed, looking rather disappointed. 

     "It was pretty," she offered at his gloomy outlook. Suddenly she cried out. 

     "What is it?" he asked her hurridly. 

     "I-I'm being pulled backwards! I think I'm waking up..." Not soon after she spoke the outline that had been hovering around him for 3 months, the one only he could see, began to fade...and fade...and fade. 

    Ron spun around, waiting and watching. Watching. Watching. He stared at her until he thought he was going blind, and very slowly and very suddenly, the eyelashes that spritted across the lids began to flutter open. 


End file.
